


It’s this silly life of mine

by black_rosegold



Series: Just life, I suppose [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, The writer feels good so Thomas feels good, anti vent, like the opposite of a vent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_rosegold/pseuds/black_rosegold
Summary: In which Thomas remembers how it feels to be alive.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Series: Just life, I suppose [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981097
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	It’s this silly life of mine

**Author's Note:**

> So a little bit of context for this. A while ago I was feeling really horrible and I wrote a vent which I posted. Then, this weekend, after I’d put up some fairy lights I suddenly felt good, like really good. Better than I had in weeks. And I needed to get it out so I wrote this as a sequel to my vent. So if Thomas seems a bit OOC it’s because I’m projecting massively :/

That morning when Thomas woke, he didn’t think about the fact he was awake. He just was. It was easy to push back the covers and simply sit up.

Mindful not to disturb Richard, though he was still snoring away, he sat on the edge of the bed and took a breath, drawing the air into his lungs in a slow, purposeful way. Something had changed. As if it had been out of place, the world had shifted.

In the end it was the curtains that did it. The new ones that Richard put in. Having worked at Downton for years, Thomas was no stranger to fine interior design and Richard’s little London flat was not what he’d describe as tasteful. But they’d decided to buy some curtains in an attempt to ‘spruce it up’. 

So now he could wake up and not listen to Richard complain about being woken up too early by the morning sun. In the little bit of light filtering into the room he admired the choice of fabric and the fact that it matched the sofa. That little detail made him smile.

A sensation rose up in him, modest at first, one he’d forgotten. That’s when he realised. A veil had been pulled back, the boulder on his chest had been lifted.

Oh God, he could feel again. 

Something other than the crushing fog that strangled his thoughts and caused him to choke. He didn’t need to scrabble and claw for air. A breath, just like that. The vice that had gripped him was gone, no hand on his shoulder forcing him down and trapping him under black waters. The pressure had eased, so slow that he hadn’t even noticed.

And all at once it was wonderful, his eyes were open to take in the morning light peeking out from behind the curtains and the bustle of the waking city complete with rumbling car engines and paperboys shouting. Thomas pulled them open to let the world welcome him back.

The streets started to swell with people, the ebb and flow of the crowds made him feel alive, their energy reaching out to him, beckoning him back to the world. In his mind he fell into step with the rest of them all, keeping pace. He could feel it again. 

The cat, a mangy thing, that liked to sun itself on the neighbour’s window sill, scrutinised him. Thomas beamed in reply. He wanted to boast his elation to everyone, the whole of London if he could. Was that selfish? Probably, but part of being selfish was that he just didn’t care.

Everything made him want to be glad. The sun brushing his face, the comfort of his pajamas. Even the muggy scent wafting from the street below reminded him that he was in London and why he was in London and he wanted to grin all over again.

His fingers twitched in glee as an energy began to build inside him, a sudden drive to do everything he could possibly do. He could tease Richard about his stubble. They could go out for dinner and come home to dance until the early morning, he might wear a nice suit (that grey one that he looked so good in). Or he could go look at fine art in a gallery or walk to the park and feed the ducks. He’d watch them snaffle up pieces of bread, quacking like scorned gentlemen who’d been served dinner a minute late.

Oddly, he found himself picturing the worn copy of the Great Gatsby on his bedside table and had the incredible urge to plunge himself into that world as soon as he could, to immerse himself in words he’d wasted nights trying to make sense of, words he knew he should’ve understood.

Maybe he’d go to the theatre, see a show. Why not? Maybe he’d stay in London another day. 

But there was something else too. A longing to be back at Downton, his domain. He could talk to Baxter and talk about nothing in particular. Pride himself of the state of his work as he successfully kept standards up because, as he found himself wanting to brag, he was damn good at his job.

A few tears welled up, tracing his cheek as they fell. Gentle and silent, they dripped to the floor. But he wasn’t sad, far from it. A dam had been dismantled and this outpouring of euphoria was overwhelming and not quite enough all at the same time. 

“Thomas?”

His heart threatened to burst in his chest, for no discernible reason at all, at seeing Richard rubbing his eyes, standing in his dressing gown with mussed hair to match. He was delighted to see him because he could feel like that again. Properly. Not some watered down version of what he could have. This was life at full force again, everything was in full colour, brilliant and bright.

_ Richard. Oh Richard. If only you knew. _

Then he laughed. The sound bubbled out of him and he couldn’t make it stop, too intoxicated in the joy spreading to every inch of his body, right to the tips of his fingers. How ridiculous he must look, a grown man in his pajamas with a tear streaked face, doubled over with laughter. The thought only made him laugh harder. 

“Thomas?” Hearing his name again, tumbling from his Richard’s lips made him feel lighter still. He took that as his cue to barrel into him, wrapping him in a hug. He nuzzled his face in his shoulder.

_ Look at where I am _ , he thought,  _ I’m here with him and he’s here with me and we’re together and how simply divine is that _ .

“Good morning to you too. How are you feeling?” Thomas pulled away so he could see his face, look into those knowing eyes that reminded him that, yes, he was loved.

It was like a massive sigh, a release. “I feel good.” Those words, he meant them and God, did that ever make him smile. Brightness fizzed inside him, his mind buzzing with exhilaration, he was giddy from the high.

And then Richard was smiling too. He understood.

“Thank you.” 

Richard shook his head slightly. “It’s what I’m here for.” There was a joke in his words but Thomas knew he meant it.

Here he was, a little bit scattered-brained but nonetheless alive. Every scrap of emotion he could lay his hands on, they were all his again. He’d found them and he did not want to let any of it go. 

It was all so ridiculous. There was a crackling in his mind, the potential of all the things he could do bursting into life, letting themselves be known in their individuality. 

He was awake, alive, the view more vivid and clear than it had been for weeks. 

Thomas took another breath. And another.

Buoyed up. Weightless. Untethered. Frantic for life to get going, for the day to grab him by the hand and hurry him along.

It was like he was teetering on the edge of something, up so high he was at risk of falling off. But maybe that was the thrill gripping him now, letting him remember what his days could be like and what he could possibly do with them. He was unbound in his bliss, free to do as he pleased and go wherever his delight decided.

This wasn’t just existing anymore, there was substance, there was clarity, there was life. One that was his and he was alive and living it.

That’s when Thomas remembered the name for happiness.


End file.
